


if I could put you in a frame I'd draw you smiling

by fivewhatfive



Category: Fashion Model RPF, Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: Brunette Karlie returns from war, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 07:51:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10962894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fivewhatfive/pseuds/fivewhatfive
Summary: It's not like Taylor got out of bed thinking nothing said 'Happy five-month anniversary!' like sorting her polaroid collection. More like, 'Happy five-month anniversary—do you finally see what you’ve gotten yourself into?'





	if I could put you in a frame I'd draw you smiling

Taylor holds the stack of polaroids from Gigi's twenty-first birthday between her palms and taps it against the smooth surface of her coffee table until they all align. Done and done. “You know,” she says, “I think this won’t even take that long."

Then she looks up. "Karlie!"

"Sorry, I'm sorry," Karlie says, her hands hesitating between the polaroids strewn across her lap and the stack sitting on her side of the table that's, like, a jenga disaster waiting to happen. She looks so overwhelmed it would be funny if it didn't set back their plans for the evening.

Well, set back their plans even further. It's not like Taylor got out of bed thinking nothing said 'Happy five-month anniversary!' like sorting her polaroid collection. More like, 'Happy five-month anniversary—do you finally see what you’ve gotten yourself into?'

Taylor snorts and straightens up, rolling her shoulders back. She hadn’t exactly planned to sit on the floor, but there's no way she's going to pack everything back up and set up shop elsewhere in the apartment. She does wonder on and off how Karlie isn't uncomfortable sitting on the other side of the coffee table without a couch to support her back, but she's also been dating Karlie long enough to know better than to invite an answer that will probably lead to sad attempts at yoga.

"I don't think these are gonna fit in one box," Karlie says.

"Of course they're not gonna fit, you're not sorting them." Taylor cranes her neck forward, trying to peek at the pictures Karlie's holding. "Is it a lot of people? Because those go in group shots, you don't have to try to figure out—"

"I _know_ , Taylor."

"Okay." _Jeez_. "Do you want to split the pile, then? It'll go by faster."

"It's not that." Karlie frowns at the pictures in her hands, fanned out like playing cards. The longer she stares, the closer her frown gets to a flat out grimace, and her face is too expressive for it _not_ to look like she’s on the verge of saying something.

But then her shoulders slump. "Fine."

Taylor is kind of wary, now. No one should look _that_ resigned about handing over a stack of polaroids. She’s expecting embarrassment, some of Cara’s more scandalous handiwork, or maybe pictures of someone long gone that nonetheless still hold an echo of meaning. Anything but a pink sky and Karlie’s mouth tragically full of her own hair.

"Oh, I see what's happening." Taylor smirks. Someone's critical of their own candids. Taylor goes through the first three pictures, and then the fourth, and then the fifth. Around picture number twenty, though, it's not so funny anymore. "Okay, maybe I don’t...see," she says, eyebrows rising. "Yeah, I think—okay, that's a lot of pictures of you. That's an excessive amount of pictures of you."

Karlie laughs, which is something, at least. Her laugh is always going to be something.

Taylor starts breaking the stack into smaller piles, but there's this—there’s one picture where Karlie’s clearly pointing at something out of frame, the tip of her finger all but touching the white border of the polaroid. Taylor sifts through the piles in search of a subsequent moment that’ll jog her memory, but nothing does. She can tell the photo’s from early last year—Karlie's still blonde—and the angle means Taylor had been sitting down when she'd snapped the shot, but it's not like she can read _clouds_.

Still, a fondness creeps in and tugs at the corners of Taylor's mouth, and she's self-aware enough to recognize it's coming from that part of herself that's always pocketing loose thread, always looking to weave it back into something meaningful. Whatever Karlie had been trying to draw her attention to, all the polaroid reveals is her inability to look away.

"Did you really?"

Taylor looks up. "Hm?"

"Not see," Karlie says, nodding at the pictures.

“That I have a million pictures of you?” Taylor asks and reads the answer in the complete lack of mirth in Karlie’s eyes. No, of course that’s not what she meant.

So Taylor answers plainly. “I didn’t,” she says. “I didn’t realize I'd started seeing you that way.” Taylor watches Karlie nod, trying to get a better read on her than just, like, thoughtful with a side of melancholy. “You'd think I would, right? Feelings are sort of my thing."

Karlie’s smile is timid when she finally— _thankfully_ —meets her eye. "You do think about them kind of a lot."

"I mean, I really like that love is this unpredictable thing—" Taylor presses her lips together. It's just Karlie. "Okay, I don't think you guys believe me when I say the one constant in all of my relationships has been this moment where I was just, like, _oh_ , so _that's_ why I've been so stupid around this person. You know? Like, I'm really good at hoping for love, and I think I do okay when I know what I want, but I don't think I've ever seen it coming. I don't think anyone ever..." Taylor frowns as Karlie starts to get up. "Unless you totally did. Unless you totally did see it coming right away and I'm just, like, really driving the point home. About me being stupid."

"You're not stupid," Karlie says, lowering herself into the space beside Taylor. She's sitting directly on the rug, so Taylor's cushion means that Karlie’s looking square at Taylor when she says, "Be nice to yourself." She squeezes Taylor's knee, smiling. "Isn't that what you're always saying?"

Taylor tries to flatten her features into a deadpan expression, but it's hard to look serious when her mouth wants to smile back. "I'm a really complex person."

"I know," Karlie says and means it. "I like that."

Taylor looks down and fidgets with the thin diamond-dotted band on her index finger. She's pretty sure the two understated gold rings on Karlie's left hand are part of the same set. "You're so biased right now."

Karlie gives her a look.

"I'm just saying. Objective reasoning is import—" Karlie’s mouth catches her upper lip at a clumsy angle—she’s still speaking—but the tips of Karlie's fingers effectively silence Taylor as they trail along her jaw, then curl beneath her chin and nudge it upwards. Taylor's thoughts are a jumble of _rude interruptions_ and _why are you even thinking about that?_ and _that’s my shampoo_ until Karlie bites her bottom lip and pulls her closer, the collar of Taylor's sweater riding up against her throat as Karlie’s fingers knot the soft fabric in the middle of Taylor's back.

Of course, the minute she really gets into it, the relentless press of Karlie's mouth against her own becomes a nip, and then a brush, and then a warm, laughing breath.

"Sorry," Karlie says, a smile still in her voice, and gently tugs Taylor's sweater back down. "Please go on."

Taylor swallows audibly, which kind of tanks her attempt at affecting petulance. "No, because you're not even listening. You're just thinking about kissing me."

"Hmm...true," Karlie admits, sighing dreamily, and kisses her again.

Taylor laughs and feels it linger on her lips even as they pull the boxes and pictures on the far side of the coffee table closer to where they’re both now propped up against the couch.

It's just so _different_ , is the thing, but not in the ways she'd worried about on the phone with her mom. It's not having to fight tooth and nail for Karlie's attention. It's not being made to feel clingy and wrong for wanting it, or difficult and unfair for being busy herself.

"I wasn't trying to make you feel bad," Karlie says, which feels pretty out of nowhere until Taylor realizes what her face must look like after traipsing down _that_ fun memory lane.

"Karlie—"

"No, really. I said that because I didn't see it either."

"That's okay."

"I thought you did, though. I kept looking at those pictures and they're so..." Karlie makes these helpless circles with both hands, like that's somehow going to reel in the words she wants. "Loving. Careful. I don't know," she says. "It felt like you knew and not only I didn't—not only did I _not_ know, but I didn't notice that you did, either."

Taylor pulls Karlie’s hand into her lap and holds it between her palms, idly rubbing Karlie's wrist with her thumb. "Is that why you were upset? Before?”

Karlie folds her fingers over Taylor’s, mutely staring at their hands long enough for Taylor to start to worry that thoughtful with a side of melancholy is about to make a comeback, but then Karlie shrugs. “I guess it’s just that we’ve always been so in sync. Figuring things out at the same time, same hobbies, same priorities...”

“Same outfits,” Taylor teases. It doesn't help that only the _New York_ emblazoned across Karlie's chest and the little hearts scattered across her own saved them from twinning in navy sweaters today.

“Yeah,” Karlie agrees, voice soft like a fond sigh. "This didn't look in sync, though." She holds up a couple of pictures with her free hand. "I thought maybe you just said you didn't know because you didn't want to hurt my feelings. Even though I've been missing things."

"Oh my god, Karlie, no," Taylor says, and then realizes she's sort of strangling Karlie's hand. "I promise that's so not what happened. I know you and my mom are trying to outdo each other as the perfect hostess, but you don't actually have to read people's minds. You're not letting me down if you can't anticipate everything I want or feel or what kind of cake I'm craving that day."

"Well, shoot," Karlie says, trying for humor. Her heart isn't really in it, though, and it shows when she basically melts against Taylor's body after Taylor pulls her in for a hug.

Taylor says, "I love that this is important to you, but," and ends up smiling without meaning to, because of course. Of course she would finally get the white knight now that it's not something she really wants, that she would end up being the one to tell them to cool it. Of course fate would add that twist to her narrative. "Ask me things, okay? Talk to me."

Karlie nods against her neck, but doesn't really pull away or do anything but breathe against Taylor's skin. Taylor draws lazy shapes on Karlie's back, just the barest pressure to her touch, and waits it out. That hadn’t been an easy thing to teach herself—fussing was honestly, like, genetic—but Karlie already had such energy buzzing under her skin; she didn't need _more_ of a commotion. Sometimes she just needed to be still.

Taylor closes her eyes and indulges the idea of the alternative: Karlie keeping all of this to herself, curling up with her doubts thirty thousand feet above ground; how Taylor never would've seen that pebble start to roll downhill until it'd already snowballed into something irreversible, all-consuming.

Then she takes a deep breath, sighs it out against Karlie's sweet-smelling hair, and pockets that feeling, too. She may never tell that story—God, does she hope to never tell that story—but there will always be stories to tell.

And then it's like Karlie switches back on, suddenly hugging Taylor tight just before letting go altogether.

"Okay," Karlie says, a bit flustered, "okay, I'm good. I'm better now." She doesn't give Taylor time to react, immediately rising to her knees and tapping the inside of Taylor's thigh with the back of her hand. "Let me sit."

"That's not—you're too big," Taylor says, even as she presses back against the couch and tries to make room for Karlie between her legs. "Nope. Karlie, you're too big."

Karlie sits down regardless and uses the rug to her advantage, pushing the coffee table out of the way with her foot. "There we go," she says and scoots a little lower, resting her head against Taylor's chest. "Problem solved."

"For literally five seconds," Taylor says, "which is how long it's gonna take for your tailbone to hate you."

"Shush," Karlie says and reaches for Taylor's arms, wrapping them around herself. "I'll do the rest of the pictures," she says, "and you can supervise...like you've been dying to."

Taylor can't see Karlie's face, but she can hear Karlie’s smug, pursed-lipped smile just fine. Taylor rolls her eyes and tries to make it work, snagging a cushion off the couch to wedge behind her back and tilting her hips forward so Karlie will have better support. There are a million more comfortable options in this room alone, but she can give Karlie this.

Except Karlie suddenly sits up again. "Okay, maybe I am too big," she admits.

And Taylor's thinking she should cock her head, arch that I-told-you-so eyebrow, but she keeps finding the littlest things about Karlie to be absolutely infatuated with, and the open way Karlie will wear her embarrassment is a recurring favorite.

All she ends up doing is reaching out and stroking a line along Karlie's spine. "I can still supervise if you sit next to me," she says. "Just putting that out there."

"New plan," Karlie announces instead, clapping her hands together. Taylor’s a five, ten, _thirteen_ steps ahead kind of person—it all flows so easily, like, at a cognitive level, but there’s no easy flow between feeling Karlie’s hands slip under her thighs and gasping and _brace yourself_. It’s bumpy. Physical. It just feels like—well, falling.

Karlie crawls over her body until they're nose to nose and whispers, "Ta-da!" with an unrepentant smile.

Taylor gives an indulgent shake of her head. She's thought about this before, that all the incredible ways they’d been in sync would only make their differences more jarring. A few years ago, it would have been her own snowball—in a way, it still is; still makes that young girl who’d breathed romance brace for the tragedy—but Taylor’s a learner, and the young woman who’s grown out of that girl has been pretty committed to appreciating happiness whenever it pokes out its head. Sometimes that means a handmade card whose spelling mistake grows inexplicably more endearing with every re-read; sometimes, a banal evening with eight million polaroids.

She runs her fingers through Karlie’s tawny hair, gathering it at the back of her neck. “Seriously, what do you have against being comfortable?" She did get this rug because it felt like fluffy, non-shedding heaven, but still.

Karlie huffs a small laugh. Her hair slips down her shoulders all over again. "You're comfy."

“Um, so is my bed.”

“I’m aware,” Karlie says, with a slight twitch of her eyebrows. "I just thought we should take a break."

Taylor stares. "And that meant the floor? That was your first thought: the floor."

Karlie drops her forehead to Taylor's chest and groans.

"What? I'm just trying to understand. That's why people are so fascinating, you know? Everyone's got a different process." She really nails the cadence that blurs the line between isn't-the-world-wonderful? and I've-never-been-more-serious, which is kind of an achievement, considering she's got Karlie literally on top of her. 

Karlie lifts her head back up and says, "Are you done?"

Taylor bites back a laugh. "Yes."

Karlie starts to push herself up. Taylor grabs her waist before she can do more than brace herself on her palms. Maybe she nailed that cadence _too_ well. "Kar, I was teasing," she says. "We can take a break."

“Oh.” Karlie settles back down, elbows-deep in fluff so her weight isn’t entirely on Taylor. "Short break?"

Taylor draws up one leg, feels the texture of Karlie’s jeans dragging against the softness of her inner thigh and catching a little on the hem of her shorts. She threads her fingers through Karlie's hair and brings her closer. "Yeah," Taylor says, lips brushing Karlie's. "No quitting." She opens her mouth to Karlie's, tilting up her chin, and it’s not that she forgot it could be this good, but— God. Every single time.

"No quitting," Karlie agrees, slipping one hand under Taylor's sweater and tracing goosebumps up her side. She knows Karlie's just talking about finishing what they started—Austin’s bringing the cats back tomorrow, plus Taylor so does not want to leave her polaroids out for security or a cleaning person to find—but her fingers still curl around fistfuls of Karlie’s sweater and hold tight. _No quitting_. She’s not ashamed to read into it.

Her imagination’s never had a problem unfolding as little as two words into an entire picture.

**Author's Note:**

> what kind of marshmallow, oh my god. many thanks to three times oscar winner @glaukopis for the stellar beta.


End file.
